


The Beat of My Heart

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Floof, M/M, Panic, bc he deserves it, bday fic for kris, but like, in a not bad way, insert joke about knees hurting from kneeling to long here, just in a normal 'i'm about to propose to my boyfriend' way, proposal fic, proposal interruptions, the heart is its own character here, they're in love, worry about appropriate kneeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27044089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: Simon is kneeling on the ground, waiting for Baz to come home.He has a question. One he's wanted to ask for a while.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 26
Kudos: 149





	The Beat of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).



> Happy birthday [Kris](http://tumblr.com/blog/krisrix)! I hope you enjoy this little proposal fic I wrote for you, and that you have a wonderful day. You deserve it!
> 
> Thanks so much to [Seb](http://tumblr.com/blog/pipsqueakparker) and [Liz](http://tumblr.com/blog/foolofabookwyrm) for looking this over for me!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it <3

I’m kneeling on the ground and staring at the door. I probably started kneeling too early, my nerves getting the best of me. 

The carpet feels scratchy through my trousers, and I understand why Baz wants to get them cleaned. 

_He was supposed to be home by now._

I shift, relieving my knee of some soreness. 

(Should I kneel on a pillow?)

_No- he’d hate the memory to be tarnished by it._

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he’d say. 

(Which knee are you supposed to kneel on? Does it matter?)

_Fuck- what if I’m kneeling wrong?_

I check my jacket pocket, making sure the ring is still there. I took it out of the box, feeling like it was too clunky, making too big a bulge in my suit.

(Though I guess it’s not going to stay in the pocket for long.)

I sigh in relief as I feel the band against my fingers, cool and smooth to the touch. 

(Just like him.)

I’m not sure where I think it would have gone. I’ve checked it a thousand times since I arrived home. 

_It’s not like it can run away, Simon._

(But knowing me, it might.)

(Maybe get stolen by an invisible creature that enjoys crawling into pockets and stealing items vital to you in a given moment.)

I hear steps down the hall and I straighten up.

My heart is beating hard in my chest.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

It sounds off in time to the steps. Like we are beating together.

_He always said we matched, didn’t he?_

If it’s him, he’ll know something is happening before he walks into the flat. He can probably hear my heartbeat from the road, yelling out for help.

_‘Hi, Basilton. I have a major question to ask you. If you could come home as quickly as possible to put me out of my misery, that would be very much welcomed.’_

I take a deep breath, trying to calm it down. 

(Somehow it gets worse. LIke a fire, the increased oxygen seems to feed the flame in my chest, roaring loudly and burning me alive.)

I think I’m sweating through my suit. 

The footsteps stop outside of our doorway. I do one push through of my hair with my fingers.

(Put product in it for once. I’m not sure if it _helped_ necessarily, but it’s done. It’s in.)

A key goes into the door and my breath hitches. I try to let it out, not wanting to tarnish this with a faint. 

The door starts to open and I see a pair of black shoes step in.

I frown, realizing they aren’t Baz’s.

(He doesn’t wear trainers to work.)

“Did you do it yet?” Shepard asks, walking through the door. He pauses as soon as he sees me, still kneeling on the floor in anticipation of Baz’s arrival. He smirks and crosses his arms in amusement as he takes in the scene. “Simon, I love you dearly, but shouldn’t you be proposing to Baz, not me?”

I’m not good at glaring, but I think that’s what I’m doing right now. (What I’m trying to accomplish, at least.) (Trying to make Baz proud.)

“I’m kidding!” He says. “How long have you been on the ground?”

I shift to stand up, immediately feeling relief in my knees. 

“What time is it now?” I dust off my trousers. (There was no dust.)(But it helped ease my nerves.)

My knees are probably red by now. 

Shepard shows me his watch.

“About thirty minutes.”

He lets out a low whistle, putting his hands back into his pockets.

“Why are you here?” I’m trying not to be frustrated (I don’t think it’s working, though.) Mainly I’m confused.. I’d have expected Penelope to insist on running over here immediately, not Shepard. 

“Penelope sent me to spy.” He shrugs, adjusting his jean jacket. He rocks up and down on his feet leaning on his toes and rolling back to his heels. I can see he’s uncomfortable. Shepard may be pushy and talkative, but he’s not rude. He knows how important this is. 

I sigh, straightening my jacket. 

He needs to _go_. 

“That’s great and all, but I really need you to-”

“Snow?” I hear from the doorway.

It’s familiar, laced with contempt, amusement, and judgement. 

I shift to look at the doorway. Baz is standing at the threshold, work bag on his shoulder, arms crossed over his chest, and a smirk playing on his lips.

I’d be frustrated if he didn’t look so bloody _good_. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing his forearms. (Why am I getting so hot at the sight of forearms?)

I feel like a Victorian man who has just spotted an ankle on a person otherwise covered and appropriately dressed. The bit of skin there sends sparks up my body. 

I look back to Shepard. “Look, I love you man, but you’ve gotta go.”

His eyes go wide and he nods. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.” He pats Baz twice on his shoulder while passing him. I’m surprised Baz doesn’t fight him off.

He’s too focused on me, I think. His eyes haven’t left mine. 

I can only imagine what might be going through his head right now. Shepard here, talking to me while I’m in the living room of our flat. I look around, taking in the roses, the tealight candles Penelope helped me get. The plate of scones I made for celebration after.

(Or for emotional binge eating. Jury is still out on that bit.)

Baz takes another step in.

_Thump.  
Thump.  
Thump._

Ah- there it goes again. My trusty heart reminding me that we are alive, and that we are doing something terrifying.

(Come on, Simon. You defeated the fucking Humdrum. You’ve fought dragons, vampires, dealt with a raging Penelope Bunce. What’s this one question?)

“Snow?” He asks, softer this time. The door closes softly behind him.

I swallow deeply, trying not to let my throat go dry.

“Pitch,” I reply. He quirks an eyebrow up in response. 

I’ve not done _that_ before. My nerves are getting the better of me. 

I cough.

“Baz.” I step closer to him. “I have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

He looks around us, at the scene on the floor. I see a crushed rose next to my right foot. ( _Shepard must have stepped on it._ ) I hope that isn’t indicative of what may happen here. 

“Clearly,” he mutters. 

“Baz.” I reach for his hands, cool against my own. He rubs his thumbs back and forth across the back of my hands, calming my nerves some. 

My heart gives a few more _thumps_ in my chest. 

_Say yes_ , it begs, practically screaming from behind my ribs. 

(I wonder if it’s speaking in morse code to him. I wonder if Baz listens to the way my heart beats, how sometimes it feels like it’s calling out for him.)

“Simon,” he whispers. He puts his forehead against my own and I close my eyes.

My heartbeat slows, screaming less in my chest. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Snow.”

I lean in to kiss him softly. I don’t let it go further. (Not yet.) 

“I love you so much.” He opens his mouth to interrupt, but I hold a finger up to pause him. For once, it’s _my_ turn to do the talking. And I’ve got a lot to say. “I’ve been wondering for a while what I might say when I finally got to this point.” I do, I actually wrote it down. (I also proceeded to lose the paper, but I practiced it so much I had rubbed the ink off it practically.) “When I finally got to ask you what I’m about to ask you.”

I lean in again, forehead against forehead. Hands against hands. I shift, making our toes touch. 

“You once said that we match,” I whisper. His eyes are closed, but there’s a smile on his lips. “I think you meant that in a _‘we are both a bit mad'_ kind of way. But I think we do in others as well.” 

He leans away for a moment, and I can feel the way my heart pangs again. The panic rises in my chest, worried I’ve already fucked this up.

He shrugs his work bag off, moving his hands around my waist and pulling me closer.

(Oh fuck, am I supposed to be kneeling right now? I think I’m meant to be kneeling.)

(This feels right, though. Chest to chest, head to head, toe to toe. We match even in stance right now.)

“We match in ways that fit together. You are absolutely ruthless when you need to be, but absolutely soft too.” I let out a breath. “And in the way we both have grown from our pasts, how we’ve helped each other through it. How we will _always_ help each other through it. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the sudden mood swings or hesitancy to communicate. We push through it all.”

I pause, wondering again if I should get down on a knee.

“Baz?” I whisper.

“Yes?” He opens his eyes, grey and warm as they meet my own. 

“Do you want me to kneel?”

He shakes his head.

“I want you close for this part.”

I smile. My chest feels warm, heart pleased to remain close to him. I wrap my arms around his waist and try to pull him even closer to me. 

“There was a time I wasn’t sure I’d get a future, or even a choice. But now as I stand here with you, in our potentially too small flat, with two friends who barge in whenever they want, I can see it all. The fights, the laughter, a larger flat, perhaps.” He chuckles softly. “You’re more than just what I see for the future, you’re also my present. And I want to choose you every day.”

I kiss his forehead.

“So I hope you’ll say yes, Baz. I hope that despite my hair care routine, the way the kitchen looks like a storm blew through it after I’ve baked, or the way my wings sometimes hit you while we sleep, that you’ll choose me, too. That you’ll marry me.” I pull an arm back, reaching it into my pocket.

I freeze.

_Fuck._

Where is it?

I shift my hand again, finding it in the opposite corner.

I sigh in relief. 

I pull it out, silver and shiny in my fingers. Some of the lights from the candles around us shine off it.

“Simon Snow.” He smiles, pulling the hand I have holding the ring up to his face, kissing the inside of my wrist.

_Thump._

(Say yes.)

_Thump._

(Choose me.)

_Thump._

(Past, present, future. It’s us for now and forever.)

“I’ve often wondered if this was a dream.” He’s talking softly now, almost like he’s thinking out loud.

_Don’t think too hard, just say yes, please._

“I reckon it would be one hell of a dream, if it were.” He laughs. I can feel his breath on my hand. The ring is still between us.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

“Baz?” It comes out as a croak, filled with emotion and fear.

_Why haven’t you answered yet?_

“Simon Snow, I will marry you.” 

My body feels like the equivalent of an action movie climax scene. When the protagonist gets hit hard, loses their hearing for a moment, and then everything starts to come back. It feels like my ears have popped, everything is moving fast around me, and it feels loud.

I know I slide the ring on his finger. I know he kisses me. And I am sure it was me who ate the plate of scones.

But somehow, we end up in bed, wrapped in each other, neither of us wearing a damned thing. (Except Baz- he’s wearing his engagement ring.)

“Snow,” he whispers. My head is on his chest, his fingers twisting my curls. I can feel sleep crawling into my brain, ready to take me over. “I’ve one question to ask as well.”

I open one eye, looking up as he reaches behind him in his nightstand.

It’s dark, but a street light illuminates parts of our room through the window. I don’t miss the shine of gold as he pulls something out of his dresser. 

“I was going to ask when we went to Watford this weekend. I thought up a whole scheme- a plot, if you will- about doing this in our old room. The place where I first realized I was utterly and hopelessly in love with you. But you beat me to it.” He sits up, the blanket falls, lying around his waist, his skin is lit up from the lights outside. 

I sit up to look at what he’s holding. 

My wings are back, stretching wide behind me. 

(Blocking light- the fuckers.)

But I see it still.

_A ring._

“Baz-”

“Simon Snow,” he interrupts. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” I say, not letting another moment pass, lunging forward to pull him into a kiss. 

It isn’t until Baz is lying underneath me, reaching up to kiss me, that I realize I should have made him panic a bit, mull over my response some.

His lips meet mine, and I let the thought fade away, knowing there is a lifetime’s worth of opportunities for payback.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)
> 
> If you are into it- here is a playlist for this tiny ficlet. (It's only one song, and I couldn't help but sing it when I came up with the title lol.)
> 
> [The Beat of my Heart- Hilary Duff](https://open.spotify.com/track/4EFE0Cvf3caqwaM5K3udBR?si=MeWMhYlFTf2Nxg5aLvsZpQ)


End file.
